Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That For Two  Years 
 I  Couldn'T  Go To. Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed  With Others,  Or  Pointed Out 
 On  Maps,  I Could Not Think Of It  When 
 Alone.  I Would Often  Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where  A  Right  Turn Would Surely 
 Take Me  There, But Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When  I Finally  Got  There, After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place  Was   Surreal.  An 
 Esker, Like  A  Needle-Thin Rift Out  In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters  High   And 
 Adorned In  Birch, Willow, Bracken,  And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The View  To Either  Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them.  First Off, They 
 Were Much Too Close, As  The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For A  Hundred Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt I  Could 
 Almost  Reach  Out  And Touch  Them. And 
 Then, When I Realized Which  Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of  The Right  Lake. But This 
       Lake Is Large, Fractured, And      
 Bipartite. Like A  Pair Of Lungs  Carved 
 Into The Granite,  And With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
    Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly     
 Understood Them As Belonging  Many Miles 
                  Away.                   
                                          
 I  Examined   The  Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above. Was This What  You  Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying  Forward, On The  Very  Tip  Of 
 The  Esker,  I Found The Ruins  Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There,  I Could  See  Across The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire Path To  Where I 
 Sat:  From The Stairwell  Of  My  House, 
 Through The Old Woods  Behind  The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,   Over  The 
 Fields, And  Then That Right Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The  Stairs Up  On  The Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This  Was  Probably It. 
 Hidden In  A Grove,  There  Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like The Ones  I Currently Sat On, 
 Old  And Worn Down,  That  Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point Of Entry.  Had 
 I Insted Opted  To  Walk The Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M Sure  My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,   There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I  Wondered, Could  They Even See 
 Me?  If  I  Shouted, Would They Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?